


Downtown Vinyl

by areyouserial



Category: Joshifer - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1978, all anyone knows of Josh Hutcherson is that he’s the kid from that one beloved television show that hasn’t been on in years. Hardly a kid anymore, Josh spends his nights in the city, attempting to drown his mistakes, but they always seem to resurface. On one rather disastrous night, a particularly fateful mistake leads him to a girl he never saw coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtown Vinyl

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Vintage Joshifer Series. It is AU and takes place in 1970s New York City.

"COME DOWN HERE AND TALK TO ME." I bit the end of each word through clenched teeth as I laid my finger on the call button. 

I got no response. The speakerbox just staring back at me in silence. I slapped the buzzer over and over. Buzz, buzz, buzz.  _Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz_. 

"VERONICA!" I yelled. 

Finally, the speaker crackled to life and her hushed voice cut off my incessant buzzing. "Leave me alone, Josh." 

I lunged for the button to speak to her. "How can you do what you did and sit up there and ignore me?" 

A moment passed before her voice replied, "I'm not talking about this."

"OHH, FUCKING GREAT!" I called back to her, then buzzed the bell next to her name at apartment 4C about eight more times. Retreating a few steps back on her stoop, I almost stumbled down the steps of her building. I caught myself on the sidewalk and then turned to shout up toward her window. "I'll talk about it!" I called, spreading my arms open wide like I didn't give a fuck. "I'll talk about it to your whole goddamn block!" 

Four floors up, one of the windows flew open and Veronica's head shot out.  "God, shut up, Josh! Fuck off!" She shouted down from her apartment. 

I stood in front of her building and let my head drop back. "I'll shut up when you come talk to me!" 

"Never again!" She cried. 

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BOTH OF YOU!" Some guy bellowed from a neighboring window. 

"FUCK YOU!" I barked. 

"I'm gonna call the cops, kid!" warned the same neighbor. 

"Yeah, you do that!" I quipped. 

"Take all your shit!" Veronica screeched from up above. I looked up to see her unloading a stack of something from her arms. Colorful album covers and a collection of black vinyl records came cascading down from her window to the street below. 

I groaned as my records spilled out onto the asphalt. "Oh, give me a break!" 

"Goodbye Josh!" She hollered before reaching up to slam her window back down. 

I dragged my fingertips back through my hair and lazed around to observe a rush of taxis crush my record collection beneath their wheels. Hot air escaped my chest as I heaved a big sigh and turned from her building. Spotting one lone record resting on top of a bush, I snatched it and started off down the sidewalk. 

"Wasn't that the kid from  _Crestview Manor_?" I heard a woman murmur just over my shoulder as I passed a couple who apparently felt compelled to stand and witness my little street performance. 

"God, I hope not," chuckled the man at her side. "Whatever happened to him?" 

"I don't know, I loved that show," she sighed wistfully as they turned the corner. 

I coughed a humorless laugh and crossed the street. I couldn't decide if I should keep drinking, or find a place where I could get a cup of coffee to clear my head. Deciding I preferred the haze, I raised my arm to hail a taxi. 

One pulled up to the curb and I quickly ducked inside, tossing the album on the seat next to me. 

"Where ya headed?" The driver questioned, our eyes meeting in the rearview mirror.

 I fished my Marlboros out of my jacket pocket and pulled one from the pack before sliding it between my lips.  "Any place but goddamn Studio 54," I murmured.

 The cab driver chortled and started the meter before pulling away from the curb.  “I've always wanted to go. But I don't think they'd let a guy like me in there." The guy spoke in a lazy stoner’s drawl, he could have been Cheech and Chong’s long lost best friend. 

I retrieved my Zippo and flicked the flame alive, singeing the end of my cigarette.  "Huh," I huffed. "That place is a nightmare." 

"I heard it was one huge party!" He announced as he cut the corner to turn onto Third Avenue.  "I heard people... you know," and then he took his hands off the wheel to pound one fist against his other open palm, "like right out in the open." 

I furrowed my brow at his gesture and blew a stream a smoke between my lips. "What? Fight?" 

"No! I heard people always fucking there. Like all over the place!" 

I settled back against the seat and brought my cigarette to my lips. "Yeah, no shit," I mumbled as the scene from just a few hours ago played back in my memory. 

*** 

Whatever my friend Alex had given me earlier was making me completely jittery, bordering on sick.  I tried to wash the feeling away with bourbon, but Donna Summer’s  _Hot Stuff_  blaring from the speakers overhead was only making it worse. It was another night at Studio 54, a glitter storm, confetti swirling down from the ceiling just like it did every night in here. 

I was supposed to be here with Veronica. At least, I figured that was the agreement. That had been our arrangement for the past few months. One of us would call the other -- “Hey, what are you doing? Want to meet up at Studio 54? Sure, great, see you there.” And then we would. And we’d get fucked up and go home together. I guess it was the mutual loneliness that let it continue. God knows she’s a mess who had already ruined my life a couple years ago after we’d worked together on a movie -- a really terrible movie that only helped squander my already shitty attempt to evolve into anything more than just a washed up former child television star. 

But tonight I couldn’t find her. I’d sat with a group of assholes in a back corner VIP booth for long enough. When the bouncy groove of the Bee Gee’s  _You Should Be Dancing_  faded over the the previous track, that sick feeling in my gut began to travel upward and I had to get up. I fucking hated the Bee Gees. 

I vacated the booth and began to move through the crowd, brushing past dancing bodies, squeezing through a couple of bus boys who wore nothing but humiliating gym shorts and bow ties carrying trays of champagne. I snatched one and gulped half of the golden liquid down my throat in an attempt to quell the irritation inside me. 

My eyes darted all around the club, through the mist of colors and strobing lights. The music thudded in my ears, I was sweating, and everything was a flash of fire, pink and purple lights that cut over the writhing bodies that seemed to be multiplying as I attempted to make my way out of here.   

People tried to talk to me, but I just ignored them and the world shrank to a tiny pinhole when I finally spotted her -- Veronica, over in a corner booth. Her face was half in shadow, but the rest of her was in full view, her legs straddling some guy who was reclining back in his padded seat. She was kneeling over him, her sparkly cocktail dress hitched up her thighs and was being shoved up even farther by this stranger’s hands. Huh. 

She took a break from her dive in his mouth to murmur something in his ear and then giggled. And then I was certain it was her. That damn laugh could cut through this place and stab me in the ear. 

I could have left. I could have just shrugged it off, we were nothing more than a casual hook-up. But I was high and my insides were already swirling and I swear to God, if someone doesn’t turn off this song…

 “Did you want me to wait, and do me next?” I offered, standing now over the two of them. 

It wasn’t until she heard my voice that Veronica finally raised her gaze to me. 

“Or do I get a rain check, or what?” I continued. “I mean what’s the deal?” 

She just stared blankly, her eyes two dark, vacant pools, smeared with purple and blue, and blinked her fake eyelashes at me. The guy she was riding turned his head to acknowledge me. 

“Hey, fuck off, pal,” he greeted. 

“Hey!” I grinned widely at him, probably like a lunatic. “Enjoying yourself? Don’t stop on account of me!” 

“Get out of here, Josh,” she told me.

 “Get out?” My eyebrows raised and I brought my hand to the center of my chest, peering all around behind me. “I thought I could take a number, Veronica! I mean what the fuck?” 

“Are you fucking serious?” She questioned. 

“Are  _you_ fucking serious?” I retorted. 

“Are you delusional? How many times do I have to tell you that we’re nothing?” 

The guy underneath her shifted in his seat, angling toward me as best he could in this position.  “Get the fuck out, man. We’re sort of busy.” 

I leaned back and chuckled toward the glittery ceiling. “You need to watch yourself, man,” I told him. 

“I swear to God, Josh, I don’t know how to get it through your head.” She leaned up onto her knees, still straddling her friend’s lap. “You don’t own me. I don’t owe you anything.” 

“Oh, fuck, Veronica,” I groaned. She’s so awful and dramatic. “And here I was on my way to mail off our Christmas cards.” 

“You wish,” she bit. “How about you get a clue and quit being so pathetic?” 

“Sounds good,” I replied, leaning closer to the two of them. Veronica was in such a fucked up haze, it was almost funny.  I patted her friend on the shoulder. “Sorry for the interruption, jackass.  By the way, she gives real sloppy head, watch out.” I smacked him one more time on the shoulder, harder than I meant to, and stalked off toward the exit. 

Like an idiot, it took me some time to get home. I stopped at another bar, got even more fucked up with a couple of friends who only made me angrier. And then I found my way to Veronica’s building hours later and managed to buzz her apartment a million times and get my records dumped out onto the street. And here we are. 

In the quiet of the cab, I could feel the driver’s eyes on me from his mirror. "Hey, ain't you that guy? That kid from uh... you know, that show.  _Guiding Light_ ," he guessed. 

I heaved an exhausted sigh. The show's been off the air for six years, how did people still recognize me? " _Crestview Manor_ ," I mumbled around the end of my Marlboro. 

"Yeah!" He declared happily. "Oh, man I used to watch that every Sunday. That brings me back! That's you, right? You were just a kid!" 

I flicked the ash from my cigarette out the window and stared at the taillights lining the avenue as they passed. "Yep." 

"I thought so." He smiled, satisfied with his deduction. "I get celebrities in my cab now and then. I had uh... " And then he started listing a bunch of names of people I didn't care about. And I swear, if he says the name Veronica Holloway, I'll open the door and dump myself out onto the street while the cab's still moving. 

Who am I kidding? Veronica would never stoop to riding in a taxi. 

"So what are you doing now?" The driver piped up. He kept taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the mirror.  "I don't think I've seen you in anything in a long time." 

I exhaled and laughed to myself.  "I'm riding in your cab, my man," I answered airily. I couldn't take the inquisition. "That's what I'm doing now." 

He chuckled. "You see that new movie  _Star Wars_? Man, that movie was far OUT!" He laughed again.  "Were you in that?" 

Amused, I shook my head and took a drag off my smoke.  "No, man, I wasn't in  _Star Wars_." 

"Oh, man, that movie was hilarious!" He carried on. "Chewbacca, man." He kept giggling and the way he was cracking himself up was making me laugh.  "Them Wookiees, man." And then he attempted his best rumbling squawk that I guess was supposed to be an imitation of Chewbacca's famous howl. "That shit was crazy!"

A smile stretched across my face and I couldn't stop it. Laughter rumbled in my chest and it felt good. I don't even know what I found so funny. But I realized I wanted to be this guy. I wanted to be driving a cab around the city, so damn cheerful, talking to strangers about  _Star Wars_. I had spent far too much time these days being miserable talking to assholes --who might as well have been strangers -- about nothing. 

"Alright, alright. The Black Stone. Here we are. Six thirty-five," the driver announced as he slowed to the curb in front of one of my neighborhood bars. "You keep it real, man. Take it easy." 

I perched my cigarette between my lips while I reached for my wallet in my back pocket.  "You do the same," I advised as I produced several bills and reached over the seat to pay. 

And as I was exiting the cab, I heard him bid me farewell with a song, his voice rising to a falsetto as it floated out the open window.  " _Where do you go in your dreams?_ " The driver sang, recalling the all-too-familiar theme song that introduced the television show I was on for almost seven years.  "Crestview Manor, man!" He called out, still chuckling, nodding with an enthusiasm that charmed me. "I love that show!" 

Just the slightest bit lighthearted, I shut the door and left him with a happy smack atop the roof of the cab before making my way down the sidewalk. My shoulder bumped the arm of a girl who came bounding out of the bar in a flurry of messy hair and noisy jewelry. 

“Hey!” She called out, brushing past me to catch the cab I had just exited. I couldn’t help let my gaze follow her and I turned around on my heel, basically making a complete circle before I realized how uncool that looked and turned back toward the entrance of the bar, ducking inside to lose myself for another few hours.

***

Pink Floyd always depressed me, but their music was so perfect. Especially today. The droning strains of  _Wish You Were Here_  floated through the sleepy Downtown Vinyl record shop, punctuated by the steady rain that fell outside.

The most depressing thing about last night wasn't Veronica. I needed a reality check months ago when it came to her. It wasn't that I witnessed her riding that sleazy prick from  _Loveboat_ like it was nothing. Now I realized it was nothing. Nothing. She's so sad and empty and nothing she does matters to her. So in the sober light of day, after my award winning performance on her sidewalk of course, it left me just as I'd always been. Because she never filled any part of me.

No. The most depressing thing about last night was that I left my Led Zeppelin record in the back of that cab.

My fingers walked over the albums that lined the L section. Flip. Flip. Flip. Led Zeppelin. IV. Houses of the Holy. John Lennon. Lynard Skynard.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath and scratched the back of my head. I let my fingers drag over the album covers as I moved around to the next section.

Glancing at the front counter, I pressed my lips together and considered asking her if they had a copy in stock -- the girl who was working behind the cash register every time I was in here. Rarely in my life was I shy. You couldn't be to do what I do. Or used to do, rather. But a nervous rattle tickled my gut when I looked at her and thought about speaking to her.

She looked bored, frowning at whatever she was writing with her pen. Her hair messy, the color of a caramel sundae, fell down the back of her short, fitted leather jacket.  One time when I was in here, she berated some guy for trying to sell back a Bee Gees record. "Nobody wants your second hand reject disco shit," she had scolded. "You'll have to live with it and your terrible taste in music forever." And then she dismissed him, gesturing to the door.

I chuckled softly at the memory. I don't know why, but bored and mean was kind of doing it for me right now.

Ah, fuck it, I thought. It's just a record. I browsed the S section, figuring I needed to buy something, and selected  _Abraxas_ by Santana. Oh well, at least I can start replacing my destroyed collection with this one.

The track ended and a few moments of crackling dead air hung overhead. The girl behind the counter went to the record player, lifted the needle and the Pink Floyd album off of the turntable before sliding out a new record. I watched her lower the needle and decided I should go up and pay before I turned into some creepy lurker.

I was busy examining the cover to  _Abraxas_ when the opening, bluesy riff of  _Custard Pie_  stirred to life. I could recognize the opening track in a matter of notes.

"Hey, ah..." I began, approaching the counter, lifting a finger to point to the overhead speaker. "Is this  _Physical Graffiti_? It's actually the album I was looking for."

The girl behind the register, whose gaze was fixated on her doodle of a starry night on a coffee stained napkin, took her time acknowledging me. She lifted her lashes, treating me to the flash of blue I had noticed the last time I was in here, then looked back at her drawing.

"Yeah," she answered, a silky rasp to her voice. "You want it?"

"Is it for sale?"

She began to straighten up and turned back to reach for the album sleeve. "I'll sell it to you used." The words escaped her in a sigh. "I actually found it in the back of a cab last night."

I opened my mouth and felt my brow dip, furrowing in confusion. Then I breathed a soft laugh. "I lost my copy in the back of a cab last night."

One of her eyebrows lifted as she finally fixed her gaze on me. "Shut up."

"I did," I insisted with a grin. "Seriously."

She glanced at the used album cover in her hand once more -- my used album. "What are the odds we were in the same cab last night?"

"Was your cab driver stoned as shit, rambling about  _Star Wars_?" I asked.

Her lips parted and one corner edged upward in the slightest hint of a smile.  She rested a hand on her hip and shifted her weight. "He was stoned as shit and rambling about how he just had the kid from  _Crestview Manor_  in his cab."

I slanted a smile at her and then glanced down bashfully, scratching the back of my neck. "I just go by Josh these days," I explained.

She let out a slow chuckle until it gradually evolved, louder.  "Well damn, Josh." The change in her face, her amusement, lit her up in a way that felt contagious. "I guess it's meant to be."

"I guess it is," I mused.

 "You were meant to be reunited with  _Physical Graffiti_."

 "I really am, you have no idea," I told her.  "This was the only album to survive. The rest of my collection is scattered across East Eighty-Second Street if you're interested."

She offered me a quizzical look as she turned to the record player to retrieve my album.  "Now why would you go and do that?" I watched her slide the record back into the sleeve, then select another from her crate located back behind the register.

"Well when someone dumped all my stuff out a fourth floor window, most of it wound up there," I explained, my eyes fixed on her fingertip as she lowered the needle onto the new record. The acoustic guitar and bass line of Lou Reed’s  _Walk On The Wild Side_  began to pulse from the speaker overhead.

As she turned to slide my record across the counter, she leaned forward and rested her forearms atop the surface. "And now am I supposed to ask you why all your stuff got dumped out a fourth floor window?" She narrowed her smoky gaze at me and I was sort of mesmerized by the way the ends of her fringy, long bangs mingled with the tips of her eyelashes.

I neglected to answer while my teeth crushed the flavor out of my cinnamon gum. "It's not important."

"I could probably guess what happened there."

"Oh, you could?"

"You must've really pissed off some girl."

"I must have, huh?" I smirked. "So you assume I did something to deserve it. I look like that much of a jerk?"

"You kind of do."

I shrugged one shoulder in acceptance.

"It's a good look," she added.

My tongue grazed my bottom lip and I softly exhaled in amusement. "It doesn't get me very far."

"I can see that. That's why you're hanging out here in the middle of the day searching for the shittiest Led Zeppelin album ever made.

"Damn!" My eyes widened, looking back at her in disbelief. "Kick me when I'm down, then."

"I'm right, though."

"You're so wrong it offends me."

"Your Santana album offends me." Her eyes cut to the record I was holding.

I glanced at it. "What's wrong with Santana?"

She giggled and it charmed me, the cheery sound a contradiction  to the way she looked. "Nothing man." And her voice shifted into a lazy stoner's monotone as she teased me. "They're totally far out." She flashed me a peace sign with her fingers and left the register, coming around from behind the counter. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a hippie."

"I'm not a hippie!" I found myself following her as she started down one of the rows of albums. "Alright, fine. What do you listen to?"

I watched her stroll down the aisle, and realized my life had been incomplete when I only knew this girl from the waist up, hidden behind that counter. Shit. The sway of her walk lured my gaze downward as she made her way with a purpose to various bins, plucking albums from several different letters -- the Bs, then the Ds. I couldn't deny my appreciation for an ass that perfect in tight, dark jeans.

"Well since you're starting from scratch," she began as she met me at the end of the row. "Start with something amazing." Then she handed over a few records.

I glanced at them, then lifted my gaze back to her. "Amazing? That's a big promise."

She shrugged and I stole a glimpse at the way her threadbare t-shirt hugged the curves hidden from me inside her leather jacket. "Or don't. Buy new copies of all the Grateful Dead albums that got thrown out the window and just keep listening to the same old crap," she warned with a wistful sigh.

"First of all, please give me more credit than that," I told her as I flipped up each album in my arms to study the various covers. "Second," and I pulled out one of the records and turned it to face her, "you listen to a band called The Vibrators?"

She fixed me with an arched eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest. "Do I ever."

I returned to my perusal of her music suggestions, the corner of my mouth creeping up in a half smile. Picking out another one I studied the cover featuring a hot blonde in a short pink dress perched on the hood of a police car. "Blondie?" I questioned.

She nodded enthusiastically, excitement flashing in her eyes. "That's my latest favorite. Essential."

"Looks like a bunch of nobodies to me," I sighed and flipped to the next record. "Dead Boys?"

She reached for it, taking it back, protectively holding it to her chest.  "You're not ready for that one yet."

I coughed a laugh. "What makes you think you know what I'm ready for?"

"You need..." and then she took a step closer, thoughtfully tapping her fingertip to her lips. I couldn't help think it was an unconscious invitation. "Something you've never tried before. Something with substance." Her gaze narrowed as if she was carefully assessing my soul.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hm," she hummed.

"Don't forget something amazing," I reminded her.

"And something amazing," she echoed, a soft heat to her voice that I could feel in the base of my throat.  "Something for the broken-hearted," she declared, the shift in her tone bumping me back to the present.  And then she backed away, surveying the aisle in search of something else.

"I'm heart-broken, huh?" I knit my brow.

"I'm assuming," she answered, her fingers walking across the row of Os.  "Records tossed out a window? You just broke up with somebody. Am I right?"

I tilted my head side to side, not satisfied with the term and pondered, "It's not really breaking up when there's nothing there to hold you together in the first place."

"I see," she mused, glancing back at me over her shoulder.

"So no. I wouldn't call myself heart-broken."

"Either way," she decided, producing another record from the bin and turning around to face me. "Take this one. Put it on as loud as it'll go and you'll feel much better."

I peered at the album she held out for me, a simple photograph of four guys -- "The Only Ones," I read aloud as I added it to the collection in my arms.  "What if I hate it?"

The tip of her tongue slid across her bottom lip and she grinned in the most irresistible way. "You have to trust me."

"Trust you," I repeated in a laugh. "I don't even know you!"

"True, but the universe wanted you to know me," she decided, pointing her index finger toward me before she turned to walk back to her station at the counter. "Fate believed your record collection must be destroyed and you needed to start all over again." She was so damn charming, like a helium balloon attached to my heart and it sort of blindsided me.

I trailed her back to the register. "No, you just happened to get the same cab I had last night. The universe had nothing to do with it."

She feigned a wounded look and slid the records closer to her as I laid them on top of the counter. "Well, you're no fun at all," she complained.

I couldn't fight the smile that had spread across my face. "I'm a damn riot, alright?"

She laughed, shaking her head as she began to key prices into the cash register. "You go take your Santana album home and just get crazy, man," she teased. As she got to  _Abraxas_ , she held it up to me as if to verify I actually wanted to purchase it.

I raised my eyebrows, affirming my seriousness. "Still getting it!" I told her. "Look, I'm buying all your weird, screaming garbage music. I at least want one record that I know sounds like actual music."

"Screaming Garbage," she echoed with a snap of her fingers. "Good band name, I need to write that down."

"Come on," I said as I reached for my wallet. I opened it and pulled out enough bills to cover the total. "Let's go. I don't want you thinking I'm no fun."

"What do you mean, 'let's go'?"

I flicked my head toward the door. "Let's go. Let's get out of here."

"Listen, Crestview Manor, some of us have to work." She grinned as she counted the money and opened the drawer.

"Okay, now that hurts me," I accused, straight-faced.

She peered at me from beneath her lashes, that playful face of hers about to be my undoing. "It's a fact of life."

After she slid my records into a brown paper bag, I took it from her and tucked it under my arm. "You're not gonna miss anything. We're the only ones in here," I attempted to persuade her, gesturing back to the empty store. "There are no other customers in here for you to make feel shitty about their taste in music. Just me. So come walk with me."

"Just us," she noted, "and my boss in the back room." She closed the register drawer and rested a hand on her hip.

I glanced to a door near the back corner marked "Staff" plastered with layers of concert flyers and bumper stickers. "This backroom?"

She smirked, fixing me with a skeptical look. "Whatever you're doing, please don't."

My eyebrows jumped up at her, a mischievous smile my only response as I made my way over and tapped lightly on the staff door with my knuckle. I reached for the knob and swung it open, leaning against the frame.

"No!" I could hear her giggle from her post at the counter.  "What the hell?"

"Hey there, how are you?" I greeted, finding who I assume was the 'boss' sitting at a tiny desk in the cramped, smoky room.

His thick, oversized glasses showcasing his sleepy gaze as he took note of me. "Who are you?"

"Your wonderful employee out there," I started, pointing in the opposite direction. "If you could just let her take a break. You don't mind, right?"

He looked back at me, a foggy confusion registering on his face.  Eventually he got up, came around from behind his desk and peered out the open door into the store.  "Fifteen minutes," he called out.

"Hey man, that's cool of you," I offered. Spotting a large black umbrella propped inside by the office door, I reached for it before I started to back away. "Appreciate it, man." I strolled back to the counter, and flicked my head once again. "Come on, fifteen minutes."

The girl gaped at me, her expression gradually shifting into a smile. "What the hell, man? It's pouring down rain."

I held up the umbrella, turning as my back met the door and began to push it open. "Well you're no fun at all," I teased, echoing her prior accusation.

She looked up, over to her boss who shut the backroom door behind him and made his way to the counter, cup of coffee in hand.  He waved her on, the only cue she needed before she slipped out from behind the register and met me at the door.

I pushed it open with my back. "After you."

Before she stepped out under the awning, she paused in front of me, her chest lightly brushing mine in the open doorway. "God, you're lucky you have that face."

I slanted a smirk at her and my gaze fell to her mouth. I had a sudden craving for whatever it tasted like. "Because otherwise I'm kind of unappealing, right?"

She reached up and touched her index finger to the underside of my chin, drawing my face closer to hers. “Yeah, basically.”

"I don't even know your name," I murmured.

She left me with this glittery, moody look, all danger and promise. "No, you don't." And then she brushed past me, out the door.

Quickly, I stepped out behind her and met her beneath the overhang. "So tell me."

She reached in her jacket pocket and produced a pack of Camels. Instinctively, I went for my pocket to retrieve my lighter. I watched her slide out a cigarette and slip it between her lips before I flicked my flame to life. She tossed her hair behind one shoulder, leaned in cupping her hand around it, paused over a long drag before finally easing her eyes back to me.

She exhaled a stream of smoke and the rain carried it away. "Jen," she offered, then directed her pack toward me.

"Thanks." I slipped out a cigarette and lit my own. WIth it propped between my lips, I reached down to open the umbrella. "Jen," I echoed.  

"So where are we going, Josh?" She asked, hesitation in her voice as she remained by the door, smoking her cigarette.

"You lead the way," I told her, gesturing with my head for her to join me under the umbrella.

"I have fifteen minutes," she teasingly reminded, stepping up next to me, the two of us under our own little shelter.

"Oh, I can do all kinds of stuff in fifteen minutes," I suggested, my lips closing around the end of my cigarette. "I don't mean to brag."

"Mm, the possibilities," she mused.  We continued up Bleecker toward Christopher Street, our pace slow to keep in step with one another.  "Here, let me carry those." She reached out and took my bag of records from under my arm. "Since you've got the umbrella."

"Thanks," I said again.  "So how did you get into all that music?"

“Well, because disco sucks and rock is dead,” she answered matter-of-factly.

I laughed louder than I meant to. “Okay, maybe, but not all rock is dead. I mean, what about Zeppelin?”

“Zeppelin hasn’t released anything good since  _Houses of the Holy_. And that came out when I was in high school! And it was by no means their best; they’re getting sloppy.”

“So wait, how long ago was that?” I asked, amused, as if high school had been that distant for her. “You look like you’re still in high school.”

“You wish, sailor.” She bumped her shoulder into my arm. I couldn’t deny the twinge of excitement that sparked inside of me when I watched her lips close around the end of her cigarette. “So I need your input on what I said before – Zeppelin has gotten sloppy, true or false?”

“Hm.” I pondered the accusation over a drag. “False. I think they’re still awesome.”

“You’re just saying that for the sake of disagreeing with me.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, to answer your earlier question about how I got into punk music,” she said, “my friend Mac, he’s the drummer, and I started going to CBGBs and we got into like, The Ramones and Patti Smith and bands like that. And it’s so much more fun than some of the psychedelic shit my friends back home listen to.”

My brow furrowed as I tried to acknowledge all of the unfamiliar things she had just said. “CBGBs I’ve heard of.”

Jen giggled, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Okay, that’s good. You do live in the city, right?”

I smiled even though I was shaking my head. “I can’t believe all this grief I’m getting. So Mac’s the drummer for who?”

“Mac’s the drummer for the band I’m in, The Lady Killers.”

“Excuse me.”

“That’s the name of my band. I play bass.” She was grinning at me like she had never been more amused to share this information.

“You’re in a band called The Lady Killers,” I stated.

“Yes.”

“And you’re a bass player?”

“Yes!”

“A chick bass player?”

“YES.”

I took the last drag off my cigarette and gave an appreciative nod before tossing it aside. “Hot.”

She tried to hide her smile by bringing her cigarette to her lips. “I think so,” she murmured.

“That’s really cool. Do you guys play CBGBs?”

“Yeah, right. I wish! We play for basically quarters in like, rat holes that are completely trashed but it’s the time of my life.”

Glancing down with a smile, and even though I barely knew this girl, I felt proud of her. I certainly haven’t touched a hobby that I love in years. Suddenly I felt compelled to take Jen’s picture, exactly how she looked at this moment.

“And here I thought your life’s passion was telling people they had terrible taste in music,” I teased.

“Oh, you know it is. And what about your life’s passion, Josh, besides breaking hearts all over the city?”

“Ah, that’s just a casual hobby for me.”

“I see.”

“No, I’m not as dedicated as you.” I stuffed my now-unoccupied hand in my pocket. “I used to love photography but I haven’t kept up with it. Now I’m a total hack.”

“Well that seems like something you could get back into,” she reasoned. She dropped her cigarette and made sure to crush it on the asphalt with her shoe before she continued. “You just gotta do it.”

I chuckled softly and glanced over at her. “That’s simple enough logic.”

“Give it a try, Josh. You may just fall in love with it again.”

I nodded. “I should.”

“In fact,” a happy grin showed itself on her face and she smacked me on the stomach with the back of her hand. “You should come to a show and take pictures for the band!”

“What? Your band?” I asked. “The Lady Killers.” I let the words roll off my tongue, teasing her with my emphasis on all the Ls.

She laughed. “Your new favorite band.”

“No doubt about that.”

“Come on!” She was suddenly excited and she bounced, reaching over to latch onto my arm which was right there considering how close we were under this umbrella. “It’d be fun. We need good pictures for our posters. Please please?”

“Ah man.” I couldn’t resist the way she charmed my heart, and her fucking smile… Dammit. “I’m really shitty, though. I swear.”

“Give me a break,” she groaned. “We have a show tomorrow night. Please come. We do an entire set of Santana songs.”

 “Shut up,” I chuckled.

 “No, we don’t. You actually might hate it and think it sounds like screaming garbage.”

“Something tells me I’d be alright with hearing you get loud.”

I saw the way her eyes lit up and she reached over and grabbed a fistful of my shirt. The way she kept touching me was making the little hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “So you’ll do it?” She asked.

“Sure. Yeah, I’ll do it. Just tell me where to be.”

“Ah!” She clapped her hands and bumped my shoulder with hers. “I’m so excited. Okay, we’re playing The Underground tomorrow night. We probably won’t go on ‘til eleven or so.”

I had no idea what The Underground was, so I’d have to find it. “Alright. You got a deal.” Now it was just a matter of actually digging out my camera. Who knows where that thing was.

A familiar video store caught my eye and I looked up at the street sign hanging over us. “Oh hey, this is my block. West Tenth.”

“Oh yeah? Well look at that. I walked you home,” she noted. “I need to get back to the store anyway. It’s probably been longer than fifteen minutes.”

“Walking you back to work would’ve been the gentlemanly thing to do.” I exhaled, passing off the umbrella handle to her. “Too bad I’m a jerk.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame. But now I get to see where you live.” She took it and handed me my bag of records in exchange.

“Why don’t you come up?” I offered, reaching for the key to my building in my jacket pocket. “Believe it or not, the inside is way more glamorous.”

“Hm, I don’t think so, heartbreaker.” The corner of her lips curved upward in a smirk and I was taken by the sweetness of her face, a sweetness she tried to dispute with leather and black nail polish but she couldn’t fool me.

“I’d be an idiot not to ask.” I shrugged. “So then I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“I hope so.” She left me with a shiny little look over her shoulder before she turned and headed back up the sidewalk.

“Bye,” is all I could manage. Damn.

Once upstairs and all alone in my apartment, I felt at ease, calm. Usually when I came home, I was either depressed, trashed, pissed off, or all of the above. What I hadn’t done that day: one, go to Studio 54, and two, see Veronica. I’m no doctor but I think I can figure out what’s making my life so miserable. Today, I had none of those feelings.

In my bedroom, I slid out of my jacket and reached inside the paper bag for my new purchases. I examined the cover of The Only Ones.  _Put this on as loud as it’ll go and you’ll feel much better_ , Jen had instructed. So I did.

I placed the record on my turntable and set the needle down on the first track. The music strummed to life as I turned the volume knob all the way. Within seconds, the song was met by the violent pounding coming from the floor courtesy of the old lady who lived below me. 

“Fucking neighbors,” I mumbled. I can’t wait to get a house in the middle of fucking nowhere. I grabbed my headphones and jammed the jack into the speaker outlet.

I slid the headphones over my head and fell back onto my bed. My eyes closed and I let rhythmic guitar surround my heart. It was slower and more melodic than I thought it would be. I imagined Jen playing her bass. I bet she was awesome. I bet she looked sexy as hell fingering the stiff metal strings. I wondered what other secrets she had and all of the ways she could surprise me.

I imagined the curves of her mouth and what it might taste like and how I wanted her to taste me. I swallowed thickly and settled down further in bed as I reached for the button on my jeans. In my mind, she was there, her clothes on the floor, leaning over me and teasing the head of my dick with her tongue. I adjusted my hips and pulled my hard-on from my pants, I could feel it throbbing with want.

“...I could swim the length of the ocean, if I knew you were waiting for me.” The lyrics hummed in my ears. I pictured Jen sliding the tip of her tongue up my shaft all while never taking her eyes off me. I wanted more, I was desperate for it, and she would plunge my cock into her wet mouth, sinking her head lower. I was unable to contain the low groan that escaped my throat.

I gripped myself tighter and started to work my fist as I imagined her mouth. I was completely lost in her and the music and the image that I swear, I felt her there. I swallowed another gulp of air, and my lips parted, exhaling shaky hot breaths as I thought of her moaning, surrounding me with the vibrations of her throat. Her tongue trailed a slick path to the tip and her hand followed while my hand mimicked the motion.

I could bury my fingers in her hair and she’d moan again, bobbing her head. I needed her to never stop. The music sounded warbled and fuzzy in my ears and it pounded my head. I could feel the wave of release stirring inside of me and I squeezed my eyes tighter blurry, fuzzy lights colored the inside of my eyelids. 

When I thought of Jen lapping greedily at my cock, her tongue demanding that I come, my entire body tensed. I felt myself spasm, finally finishing into my other hand until the rest of me unraveled.

I laid there in my bed for a moment listening to the record crackling between tracks. A moment of anguish washed over me when I reached for some tissues and thought about the girl in the record shop. What was I thinking? As if she’d ever have my dick in her mouth. She’d probably slap me across the face for even entertaining the idea. She probably thought of me as some out-of-touch loser who would get his ass kicked by her friends at CBGBs which is entirely possible. 

But just like my neglected camera tucked away in my closet, I wanted to give it a try, because I might just fall in love again.

***

The Underground was a dingy hole in the East Village, located below street level, in the basement of a comic book store. I don't think it had a sign but that was probably the least of this club's worries. Needless to say, it was not Studio 54. 

I had arrived alone, my Nikon slung across my torso, and found Jen and the rest of her band at the bar. We took some time before the show started getting pictures of the four of them in the back hallway of the club. Stickers and handwriting scribbles and posters for other bands were scattered over the walls in the narrow hall, providing the backdrop for the pictures I was taking. Jen, with one shoulder propped against the wall, leaned behind Mac, the lone guy in the band and the drummer. He was slouching against it, wearing sunglasses and fumbling with a cigarette lighter. Holly and Darcy stood across from them, everyone laughing at themselves attempting to look serious and cool while I stood at the end of the hallway, framing them in a long shot. The best shots I'd managed to capture were the in-between moments, the candid ones, when I didn't tell them how to look or where to stand. 

I tried my best to be unbiased, but I couldn't resist zooming in on Jen's face. The way she peered out from underneath her thick lashes, her eyes piercing through the smoke and the heavy charcoal smudged around them were irresistible to my viewfinder. Click. Focus. Click. Focus. Holly and Darcy turned to scribble on the wall with a thick black marker and I pointed my lens at them. Another few snaps. 

Later, I made my way back to the bar and was just finishing a beer when a wild, scrawny kid with a safety pin through his lip ran up on the stage and grabbed the microphone. 

"Alright, who's ready to fuck! Shit! Up!?" he shouted, grasping the microphone with both hands. 

The small crowd gathered in front of the staged roared to life. 

"That was fucking rubbish!" he screamed. "I want to hear you get loud for The Lady Killers!" 

Their cheering section hollered again, louder this time, and as I scanned the crowd with a bit of wonder, I couldn't help the amused smile that grew across my face. Remembering my purpose here, I lifted my camera and got a shot of the crowd from where I stood on the outskirts.

The kid bounced off as Jen, Darcy, Holly and Mac took the stage and readied themselves with their respective instruments. All it took was four clicks of Mac's drumsticks and the music came alive in a crash of cymbals. The raucous group in the pit surrounding them was leaping around, people bounding against one another. At first it seemed there was no rhyme or reason to the way they crashed into each other, but after watching them for a while, I could see there was some sort of organization to the chaos.

Holly, the lead singer, was an adorable mess of a girl with a white blonde ponytail and ripped stockings. Her voice had a lilting pout to it -- not like Janis Joplin or the other female singers I grew up listening to who sang with a suffering grit to their vocals. Holly was like a little fairy on the stage, a happy burst of light. I knew punk music was supposed to be full of rage, all rebellious and anarchy, but the whole scene before me was probably the best time I could imagine. 

Darcy was on guitar, and with horn-rimmed glasses on her face and an angular bob haircut, she had a twisted, fifties schoolgirl look about her. She and Jen would meet each other in the middle of the stage, studying one another's fingers and chord change patterns before Darcy would hop back to her mic to join in on the harmonies. 

I made my way closer to the stage and squatted down to get another couple of shots. Soon I'd have to change my film, I was taking so many. But I couldn't help it. It felt right being behind the camera again, deciding the shot, finding a moment in time to freeze. The camera felt good in my hands, feeling the button compress, the shutter click. I hadn't felt productive like this in a long time. 

I would finish my film on Jen, that's for sure. Good god, I could hardly look at her without my mind wandering to the possibilities of being alone with her again. She stood near the edge of the stage, her white bass guitar slung low across her body, letting her fingertips walk across the strings. She wore liquidy black leather pants that hugged the length of her legs along with a tight denim jacket like a shirt, buttoned -- well, sort of, with nothing on underneath revealing the perfect curves barely hidden there and her skin like honey that glowed beneath the dim stage lights.

Their music was cleaner, simpler than I'd imagined, but it still sounded so full, heavy and guitar-driven and loud. Jen's bass swelled in the center of my chest and thumped through me from the inside. She would lean into the microphone and add a few  _oooh_ s in sync with Darcy that made me smile, and I didn't even care that one of the amps was right by my ear.

 The band ripped into an apparent crowd favorite because an explosion of noise rose from the mass of people in front of the stage and even more joined in. I slung my camera to my back and hoisted myself up onto one of the speakers, climbing on top of it to get a birds-eye view of the venue. I aimed my lens at the crowd below, their arms outstretched, fists pumping toward the ceiling.

I notice Jen glance over to me, a hint of amusement curving along her lips when she saw me standing over everyone. She brought her face close to the microphone and I zoomed in, capturing the look she gave me while she sang, her eyes cutting over to my lens. Click. Sexy as hell.

***

After the show, and as corny as it sounds, everything inside of me felt so much lighter. It’s like I floated out of the club on an endorphin high, my heart pounding in my chest, a smile stuck on my face.

I had told Jen I’d meet her outside. As I waited, propped against a newspaper box, I situated the cap back on my camera lens. I peered down the block, dotted with twinkling city lights, before something pulled my gaze across the street. There she was, walking toward me across the rain streaked pavement, her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket that matched those goddamn leather pants. 

“Hey, did you stay for the band?” She called out as she made her way toward me. “I hear they were real shitty.” 

“I wouldn’t say that. They were alright.” 

She stepped up on the curb and hopped onto the hood of a parked police car, draping one leg over her other knee. “Well, they were no Santana,” she noted. Fuck, she was sexy. She shook her messy hair behind her shoulders, and beckoned me toward her with her smoky gaze. 

I took a couple steps closer and slung my camera over to my back.  “No, definitely not.” 

“Just alright, huh?” She arched one eyebrow and leaned back, propping her palms flat against the hood behind her. Outside, the flickering city lights softened her face and I found myself staring at the curve of her lower lip. 

I felt my thighs connect with the bumper of the police car.  “The bass player was more than alright.” 

While I tried to close the distance between us, she lingered back, seeming to enjoy the way I was drawn to her. She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “For a girl.” 

I laughed softly and glanced down, appreciating that she was still wearing that denim shirt, hardly buttoned at all, underneath her jacket exposing the smooth path between the curves of her breasts, dotted with faint freckles that eventually disappeared beneath the fabric. 

She continued. “So what’d you think of The Underground? Were you horrified?” 

“Horrified? Come on.” I lifted my gaze and narrowed my eyes. “Give me some credit. I’d go again.” 

“You would?” 

“Well…” And then I tilted my head side to side, reconsidering my offer. 

"Are you at least glad you came?" Amusement played on her lips, probably at the idea of someone like me attempting to fit in with her friends at The Underground. 

I kept chewing on my lower lip, almost like I was trying to make it behave. "Mm-hm," I hummed.

She started to lean forward, uncrossing her legs, letting them dangle from the hood of the car in front of me. "I'm glad you came." 

"Even though I was standing right next to the speaker for most of the show," I teased, "and probably will never hear again, I still had a good time." 

She giggled softly and reached for the front of my t-shirt, pulling me toward her. The sudden contact heated my core as her mouth found my ear. "How's that, can you hear me?" Her breath tickled my skin and her words bounced around the ringing sensation that buzzed through me. "Is that better?" 

I tilted my head, the tip of my nose nudging her cheek. "Yeah that's better," I murmured before my lips brushed hers. I waited a beat, slid my tongue across my bottom lip before my gaze lifted, catching hers as it fell to my mouth.

She leaned up and began to slide down the hood of the cop car until my hands found her hips and her mouth collided with mine. A sigh floated from my throat, escaped my chest in a vibrating groan that I couldn't contain. Her fingers found the back of my head where she pulled me closer. Her lips were like heaven, her kisses took me some place else and before I knew it, I was climbing on top of her on the hood of the car. 

She took me with her as she leaned back and she raised her hips against mine. The friction made my cock twitch and I felt myself grip her side, my hand coasted to her hip where I squeezed and it prompted an airy whimper from her that got me so fucking turned on. 

Over on the sidewalk, the noises muffled around me, I heard someone whistle, another howled a cat call as they passed.

“Hey man, I’m next,” one guy called out followed by a rowdy round of vocal appreciation from his friends. 

I dragged my lips off of Jen’s and peered back over my shoulder. “Hey man, you can fuck right off!” 

Jen giggled from underneath me, bringing her hands to her face to sort of orient herself and take a deep breath. She leaned up, propping herself on her forearms. 

Chuckling, I turned my face back to her and the tip of my nose brushed hers. “I forgot where we were,” I murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I doubt that,” she sighed. “Making a scene in the middle of the street is sort of your thing, huh?” 

“I’m game if you are.” 

She let out a laugh toward the sky. Her back arched as she tipped her head back and it was so fucking cruel. 

“I’m gonna have to ask you kids to remove yourselves from the vehicle.” I heard the unfamiliar voice grow closer. We both turned to find a police officer approaching the car, gesturing to the two of us. “Come on. That’s New York City Police property.” 

“Oh my God,” Jen groaned, tightening her lips together to suppress her laughter as she rolled out from under me.   

I slid off the car and attempted to tame my hair, running my fingers through it. Securing my camera, I felt around to make sure it was still there. “Sorry about that.” I cleared my throat. I quickly adjusted the badge on the officer’s shirt, straightening it on his chest. Peering up at him, it was pretty obvious that he didn’t find me nearly as charming as I find myself.

 I offered him a half-assed salute before Jen grabbed my arm and dragged me away. “You’re such an asshole!” The giggles burst from her as she dragged me down the street. “God, Josh.” 

*** 

When I got home, sleep was the last thing on my mind. I slung my jacket over a chair and stopped at my refrigerator for a beer. 

I could still taste her and when the chilled liquid passed my lips, the memory spread through me like a breeze. That's what Jen was like -- some sort of unexpected swirl of air that kind of left you a mess but made you realize it was exactly what you needed. 

I pushed myself off my kitchen counter and made my way to the record player in the living room. Assessing the choices before me, I selected the Led Zeppelin record that had found its way back to me and placed it on the turntable. The needle sparked the music to life and I flicked the volume knob, Jimmy Page's guitar roaring up the walls. I went for my camera and the extra film rolls and turned the corner. As I drifted down the hallway, I reached for the back of my t-shirt and tugged it off of myself, chucking it into my bedroom as I passed it, then dragged a hand through my hair on my way to the back of my apartment. 

The cramped spare bathroom at the end of the hall served, at one time, as a make-shift darkroom. I hardly ever came in here any more. I'd made use of the equipment a few months ago after photographing my younger brother's high school graduation. But besides that, this room was pretty much abandoned. 

But tonight, anticipation to work buzzed through me. I wouldn't let myself put it off 'til tomorrow. My fingers were antsy to take apart my film rolls and see if the process would all come back to me like I had never given it up. 

I rested my hands low on my hips and assessed the supplies spread out before me. One more swig of my beer, and then I set the can on my bathroom countertop and decided to tackle this. 

Containers rounded up. Chemicals poured and ready. Flicked the light off. Not just dark, but completely black. Cracked the first film canister with a bottle opener and I felt the spool loosen in my hand. 

I reached out blindly and felt for the developer tank.  I felt like this rolled up length of tape in my hand determined whether or not I was capable of accomplishing anything worthwhile. It’s like if I could complete something, create something, take this long, flimsy strip, and make it come alive, make it beautiful, then I had to do it right. Not that pictures of Jen needed any help. My hands wound the film around the reel, poured the solutions to develop the images, but she’s the one who would light up the pictures. 

Usually I had to be on something in order to be this focused. The realization depressed me for only a moment as I screwed on the top and flipped the light back on. I let myself concentrate on the work, remembering formulas and keeping time as I doused the reel in chemicals. Timing this process always managed to be a gut instinct thing for me. 

My patience dwindled and I found myself antsy for the next opportunity I’d have to see Jen. I wanted to show her the photos. I wanted to feed off her excitement, her energy again, let that moody gaze of hers play tricks on me. 

The negatives ready, I lifted the film off the reel and let it unfurl. Clipping it to a string that spanned the length of my shower, my eyes scanned the film, over the tiny images that appeared all cool and ghostly in stark, high contrast black and white. 

I started all over again with the remaining three rolls of film and eventually hung each strip up to dry in my shower. The next day I'd be set to make prints and I can't remember the last time I held so much hope for something to turn out incredible.

  
***

I'm not a morning person. The rapid  _thud thud thud_  on the other side of my door stirred my consciousness until I blinked my eyes open. What in the hell?

Eventually I put my feet on the floor, rubbed the heels of my hands against my eyes and waited for the knocking to go away. When it didn't, I begrudgingly got up and made my way to the door. It was too early to care about the fact that I didn't have anything on but a pair of shorts.

I grasped the knob and pulled the door away to reveal Jen, standing there with one hand shoved in the back pocket of her jeans, the other grasping a record. She looked different in the morning, all sunlit and downright beautiful with nothing on her face but her tiny freckles and a playful smirk. I was somewhat bummed about the absence of those skin tight leather pants from last night, but I got over that when I saw how perfectly her jeans sat on her hips.

"My, my," she sang, her gaze falling from my face to the rest of me.

"You again?" I arched an eyebrow and propped an arm against my doorframe.

She shifted her weight, tilting her head with a smile. "I'm selling Girl Scout cookies."

I couldn't help the low chuckle that rumbled in my chest. "I thought they kicked trouble like you out of the Girl Scouts."

She playfully lifted one shoulder in an innocent shrug. "I've got the best cookies on the block."

I had absolutely zero doubt about that. Just standing there talking to her, looking at her, stirred something inside me until I felt just the slightest bit dizzy. I pushed the door open and took a step back. "Get the hell in here, Trouble."

As she moved past me, she whacked my ass with the record in her hand. "I have music for you."

"Hm," I hummed as I shut the door and scratched the back of my head. I watched her breeze through my living room like she'd been here a hundred times.  "Flimsy excuse."

"What?" She found my record player and sank to her knees in front of it. "I do. I feel like you didn't get enough girls. It's sort of unfair."

"Get enough girls?"

"Girl bands when you bought your new records," she clarified. "Girls can rock too, you know."

"I experienced that last night." I crossed my arms over my chest and watched her remove the vinyl record from its sleeve.

She turned her chin to her shoulder and assessed me once more. "I like whatever this is you decided to wear today," she noted, waving her hand in my direction.

"Listen, you woke me up," I chuckled and turned to go down the hallway. "What do you expect me to be wearing? I'm going to get some clothes on."

"Fine," she sighed. "Although you look good without them."

I laughed to myself as I turned into my bedroom. I plucked a t-shirt from a pile of clean laundry I'd yet to put away and poked my head out the doorway. "Now that's not fair," I called out.

"What's not fair?"

I pulled the t-shirt over my head, then grabbed a pair of jeans and slid them on. "You can make a statement like that and it's cute," I explained. Walking out of my bedroom, I ran a hand through my sleep-mussed hair and stopped in the bathroom. "But if I say it, I sound sleazy."

A blast of guitar reverb sounded from the other room. She adjusted the volume while I squeezed some toothpaste on my toothbrush and began to swirl it around my mouth. After a moment, I saw her in the mirror as she approached the open door behind me.  

"You would sound sleazy saying what?" She questioned.

I let the foamy toothbrush occupy my mouth while I met her gaze in the reflection in the mirror. One of her eyebrows arched and then mine did the same. She lifted the other one and I mimicked the gesture, prompting an airy giggle from her throat.

Eventually, I leaned down to rinse my mouth and then dropped my toothbrush into the cup beside my sink. I turned and swiped my thumb underneath my bottom lip.  "That you look good without your clothes on," I offered.

A tease of a smile slanted across her lips and her eyes glittered back at me. "I wouldn't think that was sleazy."

"No?"

"Try it," she dared. The way my insides would twist when her gaze fell to my mouth was becoming a problem.

I swallowed and could feel the amusement dance across my features as I took a step closer to her. "It's a shame you're wearing those clothes because I'd bet you look good without them."

She waited a beat, and then scrunched up her nose and let out a noisy groan. "Eww," she complained and whacked me on the shoulder.

"See?" I laughed.

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing in a playful glare. "You're so damn sleazy."

I lifted my shoulders in a helpless shrug, then reached up to stretch, hooking my fingertips along the top of my bathroom doorframe. "I gave you fair warning."

"So many red flags, and yet..."

"I could say the same about you." I nodded at her, let my arms drop and I slid my hands into my pockets.

"Me? Name one red flag. I'm a fucking angel."

I dropped my gaze to the floor and tried to suppress a grin. "You make me smile too much, that's one red flag."

"Ugh," she groaned, and turned her face away like she was on the verge of gagging.

My smile stretched wider. "What? That wasn't a compliment, it's really obnoxious."

She scrunched up her nose like she smelled something awful and shook her head. "Man, so this is you in the morning, huh? Telling girls they make you smile. Gross, Josh."

"No." I laughed scratching the stubble across my jaw. "That's not something I say... ever. I'm not usually this likeable before noon. You managed to find me pretty decent this morning."

"Ha! What are you like when you're indecent, then?" She raised one eyebrow and dipped her hands into her back pockets. "Maybe that's the side of you I need to see." She left me with a baiting look and turned back toward my living room.

Damn, that voice simmered inside of me, heat swelling beneath the surface of my skin. I followed behind her into the next room. "Again, if I said that, it'd sound sleazy as hell."

"Yeah, well I said it. And I don't really care how it sounds."

The heavy, syncopated drumbeat of the next track thudded in my gut and I resisted the urge to draw my hands from my pockets and touch her. I swallowed and cleared my throat as I lowered myself to the floor. "So... who is this we're listening to?"

Jen reached for the album cover and handed it over before joining me on the throw rug in front of the record player. "They're called Siouxsie and the Banshees. They're punk rock and I love them. What do you think?"

"They're... loud." I slanted a grin at her.

A playfully exhausted sigh escaped her and she leaned over, reaching for the volume knob. "There."

"No, no, I like it. They sound good." I drew my knees up and hung my arms over them as I let the frenzied pace of the song thud inside of me. "It isn't really the kinda music you sit and listen to, though," I told her. "It's more like, what you'd listen to if you were gonna, I don't know, get in a fight."

"A little much for a Sunday morning?"

"A little." I chuckled softly.

"Let me take a look at your collection then. I'll see what I can find." She turned to the bookcase next to the record player that displayed what remained of my vinyl albums. "So this is what's left, huh?"

"Yeah. Don't judge me." I watched her study the albums, the way she gently traced her fingertip along the edges, tipping one out every now and then to examine the cover.

"Hey, your stuff's not bad. I was just a hardass on you at the store." She peeked back at me with a glittering look before she moved down to the next shelf. "But I'm in your home now, so... I'm not gonna be rude."

I leaned back, propping myself on my hands and stretched a leg out until my foot nudged her hip. "Ever the Girl Scout."

"Told you."

"Okay, how about this," I offered. "Pick something over there that's a favorite of yours that would surprise me."

"That would surprise you," she murmured to herself.

"Yeah. Something I wouldn't guess that you liked."

She hummed and touched her finger to her lips while she scrutinized the titles there. "Oh! Alright, this is pretty corny of me." She smiled and slid out one of my records, took a moment to let her gaze roam the cover, then turned and displayed  _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_  for me.

"Elton John?" I lifted an eyebrow. "Not necessarily corny," I reasoned. "Pretty major."

She made her way over to the turntable and laid out one of the records. "Eh, yeah, but this one song in particular. Reminds me of high school. After prom, we all went out to this midnight diner and this song was playing on the jukebox. I have a very distinct memory of it."

"You and your nostalgia for last year..."

"Yeah, yeah, it was like five years ago, thank you." She carefully lowered her finger until the needle landed perfectly on the track. The lazy, lilting opening piano notes of  _Bennie and the Jets_  pulsed out of my speakers.

I smiled and appreciated the shift to a slower rhythm. "You went to Prom?"

She glanced over her shoulder at me and set down the album sleeve. "Of course. Didn't you?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"No proms in Hollywood?"

"Actually, I never really lived in Hollywood," I told her. "I grew up here. Work was always here."

"Grew up in the city, huh? You're probably more fucked up than I gave you credit for."

I exhaled a soft laugh and offered her a little shrug. Instinctively, my head began to drift side to side, bobbing in time with the easy tempo.

 _Oh but they're so spaced out._  The lyrics in a smoky purr charmed me when they came from her. The beat swayed her and she moved her shoulders in time to the song. When she caught my eye, she self-consciously nipped at her bottom lip with her teeth but it didn't hide her smile there. I joined her for the long, drawn out sssssssssssssssss at the end of the chorus, the part of the song nobody could resist before I returned to our conversation.

"Well, what about you? Where are you from?"

She lifted her gaze to me and a mischievous smirk twisted her lips. "I can't..."

"Come on, Bennie and the Jets, Prom Queen, tell me." I pushed my foot against her thigh again, rocking it back and forth.

"I was not Prom Queen."

"Sure."

She sighed and ran her tongue along her bottom lip before she spoke up. "Louisville, Kentucky."

I felt my mouth fall open and my brow dipped. "Ohh, wait a minute."

"Save it."

My hand went to my chest where I pretended to clutch my aching heart. "Kentucky? You're from fucking Kentucky. You?"

"What do you have to say about it?" This time she reached out and shoved her foot against my ankle.

"The Prom Queen from Kentucky runs away to New York City--"

"I wasn't Prom Queen!" She laughed with her insistence.

"Spirals out of control, punk rock, seedy bars, joins a band, makes out with sleazy guys on top of police cruisers..." I continued, letting a dramatic flair carry my voice louder.

She toppled over onto her side laughing. The way her body responded so theatrically when she cracked up, she'd keel over, slap her palm on my thigh and cackle, was so fucking cute.

"What happened to the good girl from Kentucky?" I teased.

"Fuck you!" She giggled.

“Ohh, this just… I like you so much more right now.”

"Alright, put my other record back on," she announced as she eased herself back into a sitting position, pretending to search behind her. "It's time to fight. You need your ass kicked."

"I told you, I don't like to brag." I shrugged innocently. "But I have had my ass kicked more than a few times."

“Imagine that!” Her face tilted upward with her laugher and she covered her eyes, swiping her hands over her amused face through dying giggles.

"Must be that sleazy morning charm of mine," I manage through a chuckle.

She looked back at me, tossing her hair over her shoulder and eventually steadied her laughter with a deep breath. "It's gotta be that face of yours."

"This face?" I grinned, pointing an index finger at my own profile.

She rose to her knees and scooted closer to me, reaching up to place her palms on my cheeks. "Yes, this face." She touched her forehead to mine and I leaned up, suddenly caught by the sweetness of her, the way she smelled - something feminine and warm and it was as if I was the one feeling nostalgic, sitting on the floor, listening to records with this girl who makes me so damn dizzy, my head swimming.

I watched the look in her eyes change, the once playful blue gradually revealed something burning there like the center of a flame as she came closer.

My hands welcomed her as she crawled over me, a knee on either side of my lap. My palms grazed her sides and before I could stop it, this sort of needy moan that I hadn't heard from myself in a while escaped me. I liked the way she felt on top of me, the way she felt in my arms and beneath my touch.

Her mouth grazed mine and when I glanced down, I noticed one corner of her lips flick upward. "I'm still a good girl, you know."

I felt myself smile against her and a low chuckle I couldn't stop rumbled in my chest. "Shit," I whispered, one hand trailed to her hip, down along her thigh where I tugged her closer onto my lap. The sudden friction there made her gasp a little and the sound was so fucking sexy, I was dying to hear more. "Yeah, you're pretty damn good."

She kissed me until I found myself lying all the way back with Jen still straddling my waist. The track faded in the background, the last one on the album and pretty soon, the only sound in the apartment was my lips falling from hers and then finding them again, along with our heated breathing, and the faint crackle of the needle on silent vinyl.

It's funny that she mentioned high school because that's what it felt like, making out on the floor with this beautiful girl, her hips unintentionally rocking a cruel, gradual rhythm on top of me. It's been a while since I felt this turned on with all my clothes on, I wasn't sure how long I could sustain it. Actually, this was nothing like high school. I can't remember feeling this way. When I was that age, I don't know, I was stoned all the time and an arrogant little prick. I wouldn't have appreciated a girl like this back then.

When one of her kisses eased away from mine, I took a moment to steady myself, manage a thoughtful swallow and blink into focus. Her shaky inhale as she lifted her head let me know I wasn't the only one attempting to calm some nerves. I admired her features, reaching up to brush a few stray hairs away from her face and watched as she took a quiet moment to study me in return. I realized the nerves came from some hopeful place that this could be more. That we could wind our way around each other and have something more than a playful hookup on my living room floor that one time.

"You're... so gorgeous," I confessed as I dragged the tip of my thumb across her bottom lip. "It kind of—“ Then I exhaled this  _whoosh_  of hot air and shook my head. “It hurts a little.”

 Her mouth began to waver until it cracked in amusement and a burst of laughter escaped her. "Oh, my god, you stop that right now."

 "What?" I shrugged and brought my palms to my chest as I gazed up at her. "I mean it! I'm sorry, it's how I feel."

Still laughing, she sat up and eased herself off of me, much to my disappointment, although I could still feel the smile on my face.

 I pushed myself up and rested on my hands. "I let her know she's gorgeous and she leaves me," I lamented.

 "Hang on a second, Prince Charming." She scooted back over to my record player once again and retrieved another record that had been lying out by itself. It was the magical album of fate -- the Zeppelin album that I had left behind and she found, the one that started this whole thing. "It's too quiet."

 I watched her slip the record out and place it on the turntable. "Sometimes quiet is good."

"I'm not that kinda girl," she said as she lowered the needle on Custard Pie and the familiar guitar surrounded us once again. After edging the volume knob up a bit, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced back at me with a heartmelting grin. "Now will you cut it out with the gorgeous bullshit?"

"I'm not making any promises."

"Because I don't want your lines, Josh." She crawled over to me and I lingered back this time, enjoying the sight of her approach.

"Oh yeah? What do you want?"

She grabbed some of my t-shirt and balled the fabric in her fist. "I just want you, alright?"

I scooped her up in my arms and my mouth fell on hers again. I couldn't hesitate after a request like that. She laughed softly against my kiss and we tumbled back on the floor, only this time I had made my way on top of her. I inched up her thin t-shirt and groaned a little when I discovered that was the only scrap of fabric separating my touch from her skin, her breasts bare beneath her soft t-shirt. I slid my palm along the curve there before I ducked my head and grazed her nipple with a soft flick of my tongue.

She arched in response, raking her fingertips through my hair and sighing into the air around us. She tugged at my t-shirt and I pushed hers off. The bassline in my ears spurned a more electric pace and we managed to get rid of the rest of our clothes across the floor amid hot, ragged breaths. My flesh felt lit up with current against hers, she was soft, all fascinating curves and peaks and valleys that felt so fucking good underneath me.

She tore her swollen mouth from mine and adjusted against the rug, her hair the most alluring mess beneath her, fuck I wanted her so bad. "Go get a condom," she told me.

It took me a minute to register her instructions, and I felt the pulse in my stiff hard-on and all but scrambled to my feet. I dashed into my bedroom and moments later returned with the wrapped package. I situated myself on the floor in front of her, somewhat self conscious as she watched.

"I thought you said this was the worst Led Zeppelin album of all time," I reminded her. I positioned myself between her legs and slid my palms to the ridge of her hips. My gaze  climbed her sprawled, naked form until it connected with hers and I slanted a smirk at her.

She stretched her arms and let them drop across my shoulders and she nudged me closer to her. "Yeah, I'm kind of attached to it now."

I laughed softly and attempted to concentrate as I guided myself to her entrance. She raised her hips in anticipation, lifting her knees at my sides, and fuck something awfully miraculous would be on my side if I lasted longer than fifteen seconds at this point.

I managed an excruciatingly slow pace as I pushed myself inside of her, dropping my head to her chest. I tried to think about anything else but the needy heat that surrounded my cock, the way she felt underneath me, and the languid, throaty moans that punctuated the rise and fall of her hips. Fucking hell.

My heart hammered in time with the song and I thought about how long it'd been since I'd been with a girl like this -- fucking to true rock and roll and not some shiny disco bullshit muffled in the background of some asshole's party, but now sober and hopeless and pure in the light of day. It was all I wanted now. I don't even know if I deserved a girl like this. But if she thought I did, then shit, I wasn't letting go.

She draped her legs around my back and squeezed tighter. The pressure of her heel there made my hips start to buck against hers. I groaned and she cried out and holy hell, those sounds she made. Her hips sought mine in a rhythm we couldn't back away from now. Each move, every thrust punctuated by a sharp exhale from either one of us. Fuck, I was gonna lose it. I thought about slowing down, about taking a minute to just focus on her. But when her fingertips dug into my back and she held me to her, I knew she was filled with the same raw need that I had. And so I kept up the measured pace that we couldn't deny, echoed by the heavy downbeat of the track that filled the room.

Her moans became short, desperate whimpers that made me drive myself deeper into her until I lost all control and slipped from the edge. I buried my face against her neck while her body tensed around me. We grew rigid and still together, clinging to one another for a timid moment until the nerves, the tension, and the rush dwindled and we broke apart together.

We loosened ourselves from one another and amid heavy, relieved exhales, both resigned ourselves to the floor on our backs. As our breathing slowed, I glanced over at her to find her studying the ceiling until her head tilted and her gaze found mine.

"I'm really glad your ex-girlfriend threw all those records out the window," she said before lightly blowing a strand of hair off her lip.

I felt a smile stretch my cheeks and I chuckled, reaching up to rub my eyelids. I groaned beneath my hands and inhaled a cleansing breath. "You know, I'm kind of glad too."

"She is your ex, right?" Jen cocked a wondering eyebrow.

"Yes," I insisted. "Extremely."

"Just making sure."

"You--" I rolled back over and pressed a kiss against her cheek, then along her jaw until my lips met hers. I managed some ridiculous, spent noise of enjoyment that made her giggle before I pushed myself away from her. "I'll be back," I called before I shut myself in the bathroom.

When I emerged, I noticed that she was no longer in my living room. I glanced toward the kitchen and waited a confused beat, but heard nothing. Even the record had stopped. I grabbed my jeans from the floor and slid into them. "Jen?"

"Yeah." I heard her voice float from the end of the hall.

When I made my way back there, I saw that she had discovered my other bathroom. She stood in front of the curtain-less shower, in nothing but the t-shirt I had worn earlier, gazing at the black and white strips of celluloid that hung from the outstretched string there.

"Oh yeah." I cleared my throat. "Those are from last night."

She grinned and turned to face me. "Oh my god, Josh! Why didn't you tell me you had developed these?"

"Well, I was going to wait until I made the prints." I nervously scratched the back of my head, suddenly self-conscious that she was getting a look at my work. "I didn't get to it last night."

"I can't believe you did this last night after how late we were out."

"I wanted to. I couldn't sleep."

"Can I touch them?"

 "Just... the edges," I instructed, watching over her as she gently touched her fingers to the outer edges of one of the film rolls. She held it steady and looked close, down the row, each frame lending to the story of the night at The Underground.

 "Thank you." She glanced up at me with a hopelessly adorable smile. God, help me I'm so gone.

 "You're welcome."

"Can I help you print them?"

"Sure. Yeah, of course." I felt the hollow, dull rumble in my stomach and slapped my palm there. "But first, let me take you to breakfast. I'm really hungry." 

"Yes, me too," she agreed with an eager flash in her eyes. 

"And then I'll put you to work." I added a smack on her behind as she playfully dashed out of the bathroom with a skip, leading the way.

 

****EPILOGUE****

  
“Keep that finger right there,” Jen instructed, adjusting my hand until it was exactly how she wanted. “And then you sort of flick with your first two fingers down here.” 

My brow furrowed and I studied the strings of the bass guitar I was holding. It felt foreign to me, but having Jen so patiently explain a simple chord made me want to be the perfect, obedient student. We were spending the afternoon in Derby’s Music Shop in the Village, testing any instrument that caught our eyes. Jen was experiencing some extreme guitar lust which was adorable to witness, and somewhat erotic when she would stroke the neck of a long, sleek black and white bass.

“Flick my fingers?” I asked, confused as I made uneven, clumsy sounds echo from the strings.

“Like this.” She laughed softly and sat on the bench next to me. She moved her index and middle finger over the top two strings of the bass while I held down the note with my left hand. Suddenly, it sounded like actual, recognizable sound.

“I don’t know if I’d really call that flicking.” I offered my right hand, palm up, and wiggled my first two fingers. “You’re kind of fingering the strings.”

“Well alright.” She leaned closer to my face and stroked her hand through my hair. “Finger them, then.”

“How’s this?” I walked my fingers back and forth over the strings like she demonstrated. Strumming the stiff metal excited me. The right combination of movements and where I placed my hands elicited just the right sounds, not unlike a woman.

“Much better.” She flashed me a smile. “I’m pretty sure you know what you’re doing.” She moved the middle finger of my left hand to a new string and held it there. “Now you’re playing G. You just went from E to G.”

“I’m rocking so hard. Can you stand it?”

“You’re blowing my mind, mister.” She reached underneath the bench and retrieved my Nikon.

I had started taking my camera everywhere with me when I wasn’t working. From behind the lens, the city was brand new. Everything needed to be captured, preserved, exposed from the yellow streaks of taxis that flew down Broadway to the flashing neon of Times Square, to the fiery autumn leaves that drifted from the trees in Washington Square Park. Mostly, though, I loved taking pictures of people – strangers, friends, anyone who would let me. Even if they didn’t let me, I snapped anyway. And of course, my favorite person to photograph was Jen. She had an endless catalog of looks she was always giving me and I wanted to remember every single one.

She rose from the bench and starting clicking the camera, capturing my impressive performance. I gave her my best cool, unaffected bass player look and she giggled, rounding the area where I was seated so she could capture me from different angles.

“I’m loving it. Give me more!” She teased. “Come on, give it to me.”

I stood up to replace the bass guitar on its stand. “You are one dirty girl, begging me right out in public like this.”

She lowered the camera and grabbed a fistful of my t-shirt, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face as she tipped against me. “I never have to beg when it comes to you.” Her mouth teased my neck as she murmured her words in a way that made my chest heat up. “And you know that.”

A low laugh vibrated my throat and I squeezed her waist in my hands, backing her up toward an impressive looking drum kit. “That’s true. I’ve got it pretty bad.” My lips brushed hers and captured her mouth in a kiss.

A soft sigh eased out of her as she fell against me and draped an arm around my neck. After a moment, she pulled away but lingered there, teasing the tip of my nose with hers.  “I don’t know how you got me this bad,” she whispered. “I think I was tricked.”

I chuckled and slid my palms up her back, tugging her closer. “I just know what you want, heartbreaker.”

“Oh so I’m the heartbreaker now?”

I tipped my head back, dramatically gaping at the ceiling. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She giggled and dragged a hand down, tracing my face before her fingers stopped to nip my chin. “Mm. And what is it I want right now?”

My gaze returned to hers and narrowed in deep thought. “You... want me to buy you that bass.”

She let out a loud laugh and her eyes lit up at me. “You do know just what I want. So you gonna do it?”

“Nope.”

She kept laughing and I grinned, thrilling at the feeling of amusing her.

“But I will buy you a slice of pizza,” I continued as I pushed my hands into the back pocket of her tight jeans, “if you’ll have lunch with me before you have to go to work.”

“I would love that just as much.” She leaned up to kiss me again and I pulled her in closer. I moaned softly as she sucked on my bottom lip and playfully flicked her tongue over mine. Her mouth alone sent a shock of excitement down my stomach and I momentarily forgot where we were and began to back her up until the sound of two cymbals crashing into one another just barely stopped us from tumbling onto the drum display.

Jen regained her balance and we stepped away from the tattle tale cymbals, feigning innocence. I suppressed a chuckle and quickly guided her to the exit of the store.

“Show some respect for the instruments, okay?” Jen teased once we were safely back on the sidewalk of Macdougal Street.

“Me?” I took my camera from her hands and laid the strap across my shoulder. “You were about to have your way with me, right there overtop a snare drum.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Hey.” I slung my arm around her shoulders and pulled her in to me as we made our way down the block.

“Hm?” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and slipped out her black sunglasses, and pushed them onto her face before she grabbed me low around my waist.

“Do you remember what you told me I needed to get when I came in Downtown Vinyl and said I had to replace all of my music?” Once I finished my question, I turned my head to glance at her beside me.

“Yes.” A gentle smile crested along her lips as the breeze blew her hair around her face.  “I said ‘start with something amazing’.”

I nodded. 

She leaned in closer and softly bumped my shoulder with hers. “How’s that working out for you?” 

I tightened my hold on her as we dodged a few people filtering through the Village on a Thursday afternoon. Leaning in closer to her, I touched my lips to the side of her head before they met her ear. “I think I found it.” 

She glanced up at me once more, trying and failing to hide an adorable grin.  “Ugh. Josh," she complained with a shake of her head and a tight pinch on my side.

“Get used to it.”

 


End file.
